Tired
by calltheangels
Summary: Connor is tired. Just plain tired.


**Disclaimer, etc.**

**AN-This is another one of my writer's block inspired one-shots. It's a bit dark... definitely not a feel good fic. What can I say? The story wrote itself here. lol. Be kind and review! :)**

I can't sleep. I roll over and look at the clock. It reads 3:32 am. Fucking hell. I let out a deep breath and suppress the urge to rip my hair out. I am tired. So incredibly drained. Exhausted. Burned out. In the bed next to mine is Murphy, tossing and turning, restless even in sleep.

At least one of us is able to get some rest tonight. Somehow, we had subconsciously rotated who got the nights of insomnia and the nights of shut eye. Every couple of days, I went through the same thing. Waking up at odd times of the night. Having vivid nightmares that left anxiety long after I had woken up. Sometimes it was just flat out not sleeping, just laying there and staring at the ceiling until my brother woke up.

Our life was getting to me. It was a new motel room every day, a new city every week. The goal was to keep moving, so no one would recognize us. To tell you the truth, I can't tell you what day it is, the last meal I ate, or the last time I slept without a gun under my pillow. If you call catching two hours a night sleep. I was surprised I hadn't dropped dead from exhaustion. I kept myself going on bad coffee and cigarettes, and when I did sleep it was more a matter of passing out where I stood. Murphy seemed to be coping better than I was at least, and for that I was grateful. It was enough to keep me from really losing it as we waited for the all clear from Smecker, for him to tell us that we could catch a plane or a ship back to Ireland. Ireland. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I'd be okay again.

But I need sleep now. My eyes hurt and everything is in slow motion as I get out of bed and venture to our bags. We have medicine in one of them. We have to have something that will help me sleep. I pull out a bottle of sleeping pills- Still unopened. I pop off the lid and tear away the silvery foil that separates me from my remedy. I shake out a couple pills and dry swallow them. They feel like the stick to the back of my throat a little as they go down. Sick.

I crawl back into bed and pull the blankets close to me. I wonder how long it will take for the pills to kick in. I watch Murphy sleeping, envious. His face is smooth, breathing rhythmic; as if to contradict me he flops around a little, a scowl etching itself onto his face. God. I just want to sleep. How long has it been since I've taken those pills? Maybe taking another one won't hurt. I get out of bed, go to our bags, take out the bottle, pop a pill and go back to bed, putting the bottle on my bedside table.

Light from the headlights of a passing car rip through the curtains. It's blinding. I pull the blankets over my head. Pull them off once I decide that the air is too stale under them. Okay. Maybe one more pill will speed up the process. So I take one.

I roll onto my stomach. Lay flat on my back. Hands behind my head. Then across my chest. Open palms. Closed fists. I curl on my side. Legs straight. Then legs bent. It's like lying in the fetal position. How do I sleep normally? I never took note of it. Fuck. Fuck, I need to sleep. What part of _need_ is a hard concept for my body to grasp. Just let me rest goddamnit. I reach out and take a couple more pills. That should do the trick this time.

My eyes are heavy. This is good. This means I have a shot of getting some sleep tonight. My mind won't shut off. I analyze every detail of our last job. Memorize the layout of the room and escape routes. The sound of Murphy's breathing is background noise to all of that. It never changes. Every three seconds he inhales. Then three seconds after he exhales. Repeat process and thus we have a fine example of the medulla oblongata at work. I glance at the clock. 4:34 am. Oh my God. This is _ridiculous_. I grab the bottle, pour a handful out swallow them. They have a waxy, plasticy texture and taste. Oh well. I'm too lazy to get out of bed and brush my teeth to get the taste out of my mouth.

I lay there still, eyes half closed. I feel the darkness pulling at me. I almost welcome it, until Murphy jerks awake and stares over at me. "Conn? Conn? Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm alright Murph. Go back to bed." My voice sounds a little slurred. Strange. Probably the fatigue getting to me.

"Connor." His voice is sharp. "Get up, c'mon." I feel his hands on my shoulders. I bat them away.

"No, Murphy. I'm tired is all. Let me sleep."

He swears and I heard the thud of an empty plastic container on the carpeted floor. I don't know what he's freaking out over. "You need the hospital, Conn. I'll help you up, c'mon, get up. Get up!" He yells.

As the darkness starts to pull me under I look up at him. He looks angry. No. Scared. He looks scared. Terrified. I feel bad for making him worry. I grab his wrist. "I'm fine." I tell him. "I just want to sleep."

I don't know what happens afterwards. All I know is that I'm slipping into a velvet blanket of black. And it feels just fucking dandy.


End file.
